


one week (and a promise that i'll never tell)

by dramaturgicallycorrect



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Zayn, happy fuckin birthday one direction, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4404224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What about you lads?” the doctor asks them suddenly. “When do you think you’ll be ready for a tot of your own?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>They trade considering looks and Ruth slaps her forehead in embarrassment. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Next week?" Liam jokes, lifting his eyebrows for approval.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Yeah," Harry agrees. "That sounds about right."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The doctor nods at them, her expression quite serious as she claps them both on the shoulders and promises, "I think we can do that."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>[Or Harry suddenly wakes up nine months pregnant and nobody has a fucking clue what to do.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	one week (and a promise that i'll never tell)

**Author's Note:**

> in my very weak defense, i wrote this in april but never finished it and then i got to talking about it on tumblr one night and well...

Harry knows he’s being an absolute nightmare in a very serious situation, but honestly, he can’t help it. At some point, he stopped listening to the doctor talk to Ruth altogether in favor of poking around in cabinets and in the small closet in the corner.

Liam struggles to divide his attention between his sister and Harry, looking back and forth between them as the doctor says something important and Harry waves around a plastic uterus he found on the counter.

He can get away with this kind of thing because he’s Harry Styles and most of the time he feels bad about for taking advantage of that fact, really, but not today. Because today he finds gold.

The gold is one of those pregnancy bellies, tucked away in a box under a cabinet. It’s massive. Harry slips it on over his shirt and waddles out of the closet. He flops the belly around unnaturally, twisting his hips in a stupid dance until Liam’s looking at him, wide-eyed and scandalized.

Harry saunters over and plops himself heavily onto Liam’s lap with an exaggerated sigh of relief. The fake belly is actually quite heavy, which he wasn’t expecting, but he supposes he’d never really have any sort of reference to go on before. Ruth and Liam share identical exasperated looks, so Harry knows he’s on the right track. The doctor chuckles, but she goes about her business, checking on whatever she needs to check inside of Ruth while a pink-cheeked Liam stares up at this ceiling.

Harry leans his head back onto Liam’s shoulder and absently rubs at the belly with one hand and snakes his other back until he’s found Liam’s hand. He drags Liam’s hand up to rest on top of the belly. Liam shifts, pulling him a little closer and lacing his fingers with Harry’s. Harry tries not to think too hard about it, but god, for a blinding moment, he wishes this was real.

“You’re weird,” Liam whispers into his ear like he knows Harry's secret before he presses a kiss to his temple and looks right back up at the ceiling.

“Love you too,” Harry mumbles back. He doesn’t know how Liam can look away -- well, like, he can, it’s Liam’s sister and she’s having her lady bits looked at. But Ruth’s having a baby and it’s a certified miracle. Harry about fell out of his chair when Liam told him three weeks ago and the second they went on break, Harry insisted they accompany Ruth to one of her appointments.

He’s not exactly made it a secret about how much he likes kids or has been mildly obsessed with all pregnant women everywhere. He gets a lot of shit for it, but he’s not going to apologize. He constantly wonders what it’s like to grow a person inside you. It’s something he can’t even fathom going through. It has to be one of the most amazing experiences a person could ever have, he’s sure of it.

The doctor wraps up her discussion with Ruth about her expectations entering her second trimester and Harry puts the belly back where he found it just as they’re getting ready to leave.

“What about you lads?” the doctor asks them suddenly. “When do you think you’ll be ready for a tot of your own?”

They trade considering looks and Ruth slaps her forehead in embarrassment.

"Next week?" Liam jokes, lifting his eyebrows for approval.

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "That sounds about right."

The doctor nods at them, her expression quite serious as she claps them both on the shoulders and promises, "I think we can do that."

They chuckle goodnaturedly all the way to the car. Harry gives Ruth a goodbye hug, making her promise to send progress photos of her stomach as she goes along. Liam kisses Ruth goodbye and leans over to order the baby to be good to its mum. Harry is besotted.

“Do you, though?” Harry says as he fastens his seatbelt in Liam’s car.

“Do I what?” Liam asks absently, looking over his shoulder to carefully back the car out of its parking space.

“Want kids?” Harry asks, as innocent as he can manage, completely leaving off the _with me_ he wants to tuck right at the end of that question. It’s been almost three years for them, he figures at this point it’s implied.

Liam slows the car to a stop in the middle of the aisle and looks over at Harry very seriously. “Absolutely,” he says, firmly. His jaw is set. He looks as determined as he does when he’s faced with a challenge he’s absolutely convinced he’ll overcome. When Liam sets out to accomplish something, pretty much nothing can stop him.

Harry had never exactly considered himself a challenge to overcome, but he appreciates how serious Liam takes this. Always has done, from the day he knew he wanted the two of them to belong to each other. He tries so hard he almost tries _too hard_ , but that’s part of what makes him so endearing. Liam doesn’t know how not to try.

Harry simply nods and looks out the window to hide his pleased smile. “Me too.”

“Hmm. I wouldn’t have guessed that about you,” Liam says wryly as he begins to drive again.

“Shut up,” Harry says, but there’s no heat to it.

\--

"Give Harry a baby is trending," Liam says, shoving his phone in Harry's face. Of course the internet has pap shots of them outside the doctor’s office. The one he’s showing Harry is of Liam leaned over talking to the baby.

Harry loved Liam in that moment, that was the kind of Liam he wants the world to see -- soft and sweet and caring. But that moment was private. It was for the three of them. He doesn’t like looking at the pap shots, but Liam’s too excited about the hashtag or whatever for him to say so.

Harry eyes him suspiciously as he sidesteps the phone to shuffle into the loo. "How many of these tweets have you responded to?"

"None of them," Liam lies, locking his phone quickly and tossing it on the bed. “Not a single one.”

“You didn’t promise them we’d get a baby by next week, did you?” Harry asks, narrowing his eyes back at him. “Because I’m pretty sure we’re busy next week.”

Liam laughs, but it’s one of those uncomfortable ones he does when he’s been called out on something. Harry rolls his eyes.

He lets his mind wander as he brushes his teeth, thinking again about what Ruth is going through and wonders what it would be like if he was pregnant. It's a dumb thought, he tries not to put a lot of effort into it.

Liam comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around where Harry's subconsciously got his hand on his flat stomach. "Feeling okay?" he asks like Harry might have a tummy ache.

He’s not entirely sure if he wants to tell Liam. It’s weird. That’s not the kind of thing you go around telling people. It’s another one of those Quirky Harry Thoughts that always produces a collective groan from the lads and, frankly, the rest of the world. But still. He is not going to apologize for it. He might just... keep it to himself.

"You're going to laugh at me," Harry says around his toothbrush.

Liam hooks his chin on Harry’s shoulder and leans in closer. "Probably."

"Excuse you, Liam," Harry pouts, removing his hand from Liam’s to slap back at his forehead.

“Sorry,” Liam says instantly, pressing apology kisses into his neck and squeezing him tighter. “I want to know.”

“Mm hmm,” Harry says with a perfect amount of nonchalance and resumes brushing his teeth.

“Harry,” Liam whines into his neck, punctuating his words with gentle nips. “Tell me. Tell me. Harry. Tell me. Harry. Harry. Harry.”

Harry cracks because he always does, because he’s Liam and he’s an idiot and once he knows he’s done something wrong, he won’t stop until he’s done whatever he thinks might make it right. Harry joins his non-brushing hand back with Liam’s on his stomach to let him know he’s not actually irritated.

It would be admittedly fair of Liam to laugh right in his face. He braces himself anyway.

"It's just. I was thinking I would have your baby," Harry admits, but tries to play it like he’s indicating his favorite flavor of ice cream. It’s no big deal. He just thinks it’d be cool to have a kid with Liam. "If I could," he adds. Because he hasn’t completely gone round the bend. He knows, like, medically it’s not happening.

He watches Liam's expression darken in response as he works his lips up to Harry's ear. "Yeah?" he says, his voice dropping low. "You want me to knock you up?"

The toothbrush drops from Harry's mouth as a surprise burst of arousal shoots up his body, like it's saying _oh yes please_ and his brain doesn’t really have a choice. Harry sucks in a breath and his grip on Liam’s hand tightens.

Liam looks up suddenly, his face pinched with concern. "That was too much, wasn't it? I thought maybe we were doing a thing. It’s weird. It’s fine. Forget I said anything."

Harry twists in his arms and pulls Liam in for a kiss. It’s a little awkward because there’s still quite a bit of toothpaste in Harry’s mouth, but his hands and, more importantly, his dick, are in control of his actions, doing everything they can to ensure Liam does exactly as he promised.

"Minty fresh," Liam assesses as he pulls away to breathe. He thankfully says nothing about how ridiculously turned on they both are at the thought. Harry shushes him in return and takes him to bed.

\--

Harry wakes up the next morning earlier than he plans to because the baby is kicking.

He's on his side, Liam curled up behind him, their hands tied together where they rest over Harry's stomach. It's Harry's favorite way to wake up.

Except. He's never exactly been pregnant before. That pretty effectively startles him wide awake.

He peels back the duvet even though he already knows what he’s going to see. “Oh, fuck me,” Harry gasps. He definitely kicks Liam as he scrambles onto his feet and waddles as quick as he can to the bathroom.

He can hear Liam call out with a sleep-infused, “Harry?”

He panics quickly, shutting and locking the door behind him before turning to look at himself in the mirror. He's massively pregnant, ready-any-day-now pregnant, stretchmarks and huge belly and all. It could be a tumor or some other sort of growth, sure, but like, something is alive inside of him and he can’t convince himself otherwise.

“Oh, god,” he says as he puts his hands on his stomach, smoothing over every inch of the protrusion because he can’t actually get it through his brain that it’s real. He’s going to wake up any minute now and tell no one about this dream. Except it isn’t a dream and Harry isn’t waking up and he’s pregnant and it’s a real life bloody fucking nightmare.

“Harry,” Liam calls, the doorknob rattling but not giving way. “S’going on?”

He wheezes heavily as reality settles in hard around him, all of the air efficiently punched out of his chest, and he's pretty sure he's going to pass right out on the bathroom floor. He wonders for a terrifying moment what a fall would do to the baby. Baby. It’s a baby. There’s a baby inside him.

“Harry,” Liam says again, his voice bordering on desperate as he tries the door again. “Are you all right? Talk to me.”

He needs Liam, he decides, strong Liam, good head on his shoulders, dependable in a crisis. He unlocks the door and throws it open, giving Liam a good shock. Liam takes one look at all of him and freezes up, his mouth hung open and his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Strong, dependable Liam does nothing at all.

“Inhaler,” Harry gasps. At this point, he doesn’t even care if it’s bad for the baby. It’ll be worse if he stops breathing altogether.

Liam zips away, grabbing the inhaler from Harry’s nightstand before returning to the bathroom in time to catch Harry as his knees give out. He slowly lowers Harry to the ground, his hands hooked under Harry’s arms, and they settle onto the cold tile together. Harry takes his pulls from his inhaler and slowly regains control of himself over what feels like hours, time crawling slowly by as reality sets in.

It's real. It's _real_ and Harry's freaking the fuck out.

All the while, Liam remains silent and still, curled up into himself and staring at Harry’s belly like it's done him some sort of wrong.

“Say something,” Harry says, his arms wrapping around his stomach defensively.

Liam looks up at him, fear on every inch of his face. “What happened?”

Harry scowls at him. “How the fuck do I know?”

“You’re…?” Liam asks, his voice trailing off.

“Pregnant,” Harry supplies. “Looks like.”

Liam clams up again, and it’s not helping anything. Harry doesn’t need this right now. He’s never seen Liam so quiet in his life. He’s always got something to say, he always tries to smooth things over. He never leaves Harry hanging. But he does right now.

“I have to go,” Harry decides, struggling to pick himself off the floor. There’s too much extra weight now and he doesn’t know how maneuver himself and Liam just watches him work at it for a moment before he clues in and helps.

“Where?” Liam asks as he follows Harry back into their bedroom.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. Harry has to try a couple of times to tug on a pair of trackies that he has to leave far too low on his hips. Even his loosest shirt won’t fit over his stupidly large stomach. He stomps over to Liam’s dresser and pulls out one of his stupidly large white shirts and throws that on.

He’s restless. He doesn’t want to stay here and do nothing, but he’s not sure the alternative -- go out and panic in public -- is altogether much better. He just can't sit on his hands and expect the issue to explain itself.  

“We can go to Ruth’s doctor,” Liam suggests as he dresses. “She can get you sorted.”

“Sorted how?” Harry asks. “She’s gonna fix me? She’s gonna reverse whatever magic spell that got put on me?”

“Harry,” Liam says, using that same tone he does to calm Louis down. Harry doesn’t like it directed at him, like he’s a live wire.

“Or what? She’s gonna tell me you’ve got crazy alien sperm that incubates overnight in a human host?” Harry snaps as he jams his swollen feet into a pair of sandals. He’s on a roll now. His blood boils and his brain is a scrambled mess of fear and anxiety. “She’s gonna tell me how this is possible? She’s gonna tell me I’m not going to die?”

“Harry, please,” Liam says. His frown deepens. He looks hurt even though Harry knows he’s only being dramatic.

“What do I do?” Harry asks him, his voice dropping from its hysterical tone at the look on Liam’s face. “Tell me what to do.” Liam just looks helplessly up at him. “Jesus, Liam, would you touch me?”

He shuffles dutifully over to Harry and lets Harry wrap his arms around him. He can’t get too good a grip on him because he’s too bloody pregnant, but Liam’s not putting much of an effort into the hug either. Harry pulls away, irritated. He'd rather have no hug than a half arsed one.

“Think we should see a doctor,” Liam says finally. “I’ll call Paddy.”

“I’m not waiting,” Harry answers, padding toward the front door. He hasn't quite got the hang of walking long distances, where to place his feet to balance out how top heavy he feels.

"Harry, wait," Liam says, easily jogging to block Harry's path to the front door because Harry is moving so damn slow. He's got their duvet in his hands. “Here,” he says, offering it to Harry.

Harry blinks up at him. "Are you fucking serious right now?"

"People are going to see."

"You ashamed of me?" Harry accuses, folding up his arms for a moment until his sensitive chest is too uncomfortable for Harry to keep them up.

"No," Liam grits out like his patience with Harry is wearing thin. "If they see you, I can't _protect_ you."

The fight drains out of him when he realizes he's being irrational. He's a little embarrassed of the situation himself. He looks ridiculous and he knows the best course of action for them is to hide it until they can control the situation. Liam is being useful, logical. This is what Harry wanted.

"M'sorry," Harry mumbles. Liam shrugs it off.

Harry lets himself get wrapped up in the big fluffy duvet, betting he looks like a big sleepy loser burrito, but it's doing enough to hide what he looks like from any potential paps. He lets Liam lead him into the back seat of their SUV, windows thankfully tinted enough that Harry doesn't have to hide.

He keeps lifting his shirt a little as he lies leaned against the door, just peeking to make sure it's still there even though he can clearly see the shape through the thin white fabric. _Hello in there_ , he thinks at the baby, rubbing his hands in what he hopes is a soothing manner. _Sorry I got upset. And yelled. And almost passed out._

He’s fucking terrified, if he’s going to be completely honest. For all the big talk from yesterday, he’s not actually sure what to do with himself now that his wish has manifested.

He can’t lean on Liam for support because Liam’s practically catatonic. He doesn't say the wrong things, but he doesn't say the right things either. He's not saying much of anything and every few minutes, it drives Harry up the fucking wall until he can remember to calm down. Liam isn’t even trying.

Liam takes him to Ruth's doctor’s office, driving far too cautiously to make good time. He keeps checking in on Harry in the rear view mirror at red lights, but he still says nothing. Harry wants to reach out for him and he tries to, but he can’t stretch safely up to grab at him.

On the walk to the doctor's office, he curls the duvet around him close, his hands buried underneath it all to clench it together. He can just imagine what it'd look like to anyone passing by. Joggers and a blanket and a messy bun and sunglasses. Lazy popstar can't be arsed to look presentable in public. Maybe he can play it off as intentional. Sleepy chic.

He can barely feel Liam's hand on his back through the fluff, but he's glad it's there. The reception area is already full of women, who all look up at them with confusion. Two men, one wrapped in bedding, no lady. It's a sight. Liam leads Harry to a chair and sits him down before approaching the receptionist. Harry passes a polite nod to the lady sitting next to him and keeps his eyes otherwise trained on Liam.

"We've got to see the doctor. It's an emergency," Liam tells the receptionist.

"For yourself?" she asks, crooking an eyebrow up at him.

"Sort of... yes," Liam stutters, clearly not having thought through how he was going to explain this. Better him than me, Harry thinks. Liam adds, distressingly insistent but still trying to remain kind, "We have to see her as soon as we can. Trust me, she's going to want to see us."

"I've got a room full of people with appointments," she says. She doesn't say _who are women_ but she might as well have. Harry can see Liam's jaw set with determination. But the entire room is looking at them and they can’t afford a scene.

"Liam," Harry calls. Liam looks back at him in surprise.  "We'll wait. As long as it takes. Please just let her know we're here."

The receptionist nods but doesn't take their names. Liam doesn't look like he's going to move away from the desk and Harry can't reach for him without maneuvering around the blanket. He finally relinquishes, though, flumping into the chair next to Harry with a deep frown on his face. Harry doesn't want to indulge it. They only have room in their relationship for one grump, and it's going to be the pregnant one.

They have to wait a couple of hours, the doctor agreeing to see them on her lunch break. They spend it in silence, Liam staring into space with his leg jiggling and his fingers clutched around part of the duvet. It's the closest he's going to get to holding Harry's hand. He only otherwise moves to grab things for Harry, like pamphlets and magazines and a couple cups of water.

"Mr. Payne," the doctor says with surprise as they're led into her office. "And Mr. Styles, good afternoon. Is everything all right with your sister?"

"Ruth is fine, actually," Liam says. He glances back at Harry, who stares back at him dumbly until he gets it. He shrugs out of the duvet and sets it onto one of the office chairs.

"Oh," she says, her eyebrows skyrocketing as she gets a good look at him. “Huh.”

It’s not exactly the reaction Harry was expecting, but she’s not screaming and she doesn’t seem to want to permanently lock him away for extensive testing and research. She does pull them into another room for a sonogram and other medical tests. She bustles around, doing everything herself instead of pulling a nurse or a tech in and Harry appreciates her discretion. He doesn’t know if Liam does too, because he’s just standing quietly in the corner, looking at the two of them go with glazed eyes.

Harry doesn’t have much time to focus on how cold the gel is on his stomach before she’s pointing a screen at the two of them. It’s their baby. It’s real now. There’s no denying it. She points out its head and its little fingers and toes and assesses its health as best she can. He tries really hard to listen but it all sounds like white noise to him. And the second he can hear the baby’s steady heartbeat, he’s done for.

Liam mouth drops and he shuffles closer to the screen. He seems broken apart by awe and Harry gets it. He’s a half a second away from crying himself, his hands cupping the side of his stomach. He taps his fingers lightly, a little message: _Hello, baby, I see you_.

"Looks like you've got about a week to go and we can schedule you for surgery," the doctor says.

"Surgery?" Liam asks sharply, turning abruptly away from the monitor.

"Where d'you think the baby is going to come out of, Liam?" Harry asks him irritably. Like. Honestly.

Liam ignores him. "But a week? We can't just get it out now?"

"We could,” she says patiently, “but I don't see any complications just yet that would necessitate an immediate c-section. She's not done cooking yet, love."

Harry's heart starts to thump faster. "She?"

"But you don't know what kinds of complications could happen,” Liam says, soldiering on like he hasn’t put it all together yet. Or maybe he doesn’t care. “Harry's a boy, he's not supposed to be pregnant.”

Harry blinks at him, unsure if he’s supposed to feel offended. Sure, it’s not supposed to happen, but it has. He can’t figure out whether Liam is going to support him through everything, because he doesn’t think now that he’s seen his daughter, _their_ daughter, he can give it all up.

“I just need you to be absolutely sure Harry’s going to be safe,” Liam says, his voice breaking a little. “No matter what happens.”

“To be frank, I have no idea what to expect,” she says. “But I’m confident everything is going to be all right.” She looks at both of them, connecting their eyes. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

They look at each other and it's very clear neither of them know the answer to that question.

\--

The doctor sends them home with a massive amount of instructions and a thousand reassurances Harry isn’t going to die and a thousand more that she won’t tell anyone until their lawyers can get involved and an appointment for further testing the following day. She has taken all of this rather far better than either Harry or Liam. Harry tries not to find that suspicious. Maybe he was right about the magic curse.

As soon as he gets through their front door, he kicks off his shoes and tosses the duvet straight on the floor. He wants to throw off his shirt as well, which has been irritating his nipples the entire drive home, but he gets the feeling Liam doesn’t like seeing him like this. Liam fought for him at the doctor’s office, but the second they’re alone, he shuts back down. Harry doesn’t know how much longer he can take it.

Harry’s stomach has been grumbling for the better part of an hour now that the shock and nausea has worn off and he sets about cooking lunch, puttering around the kitchen with a hand bracing his sore back. Cooking with one hand is going to be a challenge, but he’s up for it. He needs a distraction, a task to accomplish. And all he's done is stress chewed six pieces of gum since he's woken up, which isn't exactly healthy.

“What are you doing?” Liam asks.

“Lunch. M’starving,” Harry answers, banging a pot on the stove just in case Liam still hasn’t at all grasped the obvious. “Eating for two, aren’t I?”

Liam smarts a little, maybe at Harry’s sarcasm, maybe at the reference to the fact that he’s carrying a child and that this is their life now and they have to make peace with it. “Are you sure you should be up and about? I can make something.”

Harry passes him an unimpressed look.

“Or I could get a takeaway,” Liam amends.

“Pregnant, not useless,” Harry grumbles. Even though his feet feel like they’re on fire and his back is sore as hell and he’s got to wee _again_ and he actually doesn’t want to cook anyway. He still cooks, though, like he’s trying to prove a point.

Liam falls into the silence that’s become predictable of him since this morning. He’s texting nonstop at the kitchen table and Harry gives it about twenty minutes before Niall and Louis show up on their doorstep.

Harry plops a plate of simple spaghetti in front of him and tucks in quickly into his own so he doesn’t have to watch Liam pick at it.

"I'm sorry for all this," Liam says suddenly.

Harry almost wants to ask him exactly what is he sorry about, but he thinks he knows anyway. "Why?"

"I don't know. I just feel like this whole thing is my fault." He shrugs but keeps his eyes firmly on his lunch, swirling the pasta around his fork but never picking it up to eat it.

Harry was wrong. He spent all day thinking maybe Liam was mad at him. This whole thing was Harry's idea to begin with. But of course Liam's only mad at himself. He's found some way to lay the blame on himself.

"I’m not sure how we could have prevented it."

"Could have used a condom?"

"Well, until this morning, I was pretty sure I didn't menstruate or, like, have a womb," Harry says blandly. Liam makes a face. "So we couldn't have accounted for that."

"I guess," Liam allows. He still looks morose, so Harry snakes a hand out across the table until Liam decides to take it. It takes him longer than Harry wants.

"I'm pretty sure my dick still works, if that's what you're worried about. I'm not in the mood now but maybe we can check later."

Liam rolls his eyes but he's smiling a little, and that's what Harry wants. They finish their pasta one-handed, neither of them moving their hands even when it gets a bit clammy between the palms there.

The only thing Liam says is, “Don’t move them feet,” when he gets up to collect their empty plates. Harry throws his feet up on Liam’s chair and wiggles his toes to prove a point, but Liam’s not paying attention anyway. He does the dishes with all the enthusiasm of a teenager being asked to do them by their mum, he doesn’t sing like he usually does, and he doesn’t flick any of the suds back at Harry.

Harry doesn’t force the matter, but it just leaves him more time to think and doubt. To wonder if Liam’s changed his mind since last night. Or if he was serious about having kids, but if Harry really should have mentioned the whole _with me_ part of the question.

He still has flashes of doubts himself is the thing. He’s not entirely sure when he signed on to have the kid, when he actually thought to himself _yes I’ll do this for sure, I want us to do this._ He just sort of… went with it. There was only so many times he could tell himself this was impossible before he had to learn how to roll with it. He had to, or he’d have gone mad.

\--

Harry’s wrong about the lads. Niall shows up within half an hour, and Harry insists on getting the door with Liam up to his elbows in suds.

Once he opens the door, Niall looks Harry up and down and appears to spend some time thinking about it.

“That’s a weird fashion choice, Harry, even for you,” he says finally. Harry quickly closes the door behind him and lifts his shirt to expose his stomach. Niall blinks at him. “Ah. Well. That’s a fuckin’ thing.”

“Yep,” Harry says. “It’s a thing.”

“It’s Liam’s?”

Harry scowls at him. “Who the fuck else, Niall?”

“Just checking,” Niall said, throwing his hands up defensively. He ducks around Harry and wanders into the kitchen. Harry just stares after him, bewildered, until he realizes he already knows Niall’s rubbish around pregnant people. It’s only when the kid’s out into the world that it gains Niall’s interest.

“All right, Liam?” he can hear Niall ask.

Liam gives an _ummm_ in return. Harry doesn’t want to hear him sit in silence or sputter to say something positive, so he turns and heads for the couch, depositing himself back down onto it as gently as he can with his hands grasping firmly at the armrest and the back of the couch. Everything hurts and the doctor said that was okay because his body wasn’t given enough time to adjust to the fact that a person is growing inside of it. Let alone one that’s not supposed to be there.

Niall hops over the back of the couch and folds himself onto one cushion, jostling Harry a little in a way he’s not sure he should be jostled in this state. Niall flips on the television and immediately starts nattering on about whatever’s on, Escape to the Country looks like, and Harry doesn’t know how he does it.

He doesn’t want to be all _hello are we not going to discuss the fact that I woke up pregnant this morning_ , but. Like. He did sort of do that. That happened.

Liam finishes up with the dishes and perches himself in a recliner. Harry tells himself it’s because he and Niall haven’t left him enough room. Liam nods along to whatever Niall’s saying, even adds a bit of color commentary, which is far more than Harry’s willing to do. Because all Harry’s willing to do is stare at them incredulously about being equally useless sods as anxiety creeps its way into every inch of his body, until Louis shows up.

“Oi oi, what the fuck’s going on?” Louis shouts from the door because unlike Niall, he has no sense of manners or decorum when it comes to other people’s homes.

“Stay,” Liam says, throwing a staying hand at Harry, and Harry barks back at him. It’s meant to be a joke, but Liam’s grimace tells him it doesn’t land.

He can vaguely hear the two of them arguing, likely about Harry, which he can’t stand. He picks himself up off the couch to go confront them about it.

“Um,” Niall says, and then doesn’t follow it up with anything.

Harry can tell he’s probably going to make some kind of objection about Harry moving, the first indication Niall will have made about any of it since he showed up. But he can’t seem to follow through. Harry presses his hands into his back to try to relieve some of the pressure and moves slowly for them, but they beat him to the punch.

“Well, then, Harold,” Louis says, quirking an appraising eyebrow at him. “You should have really been wary of those self-fulfilling prophecies.”

“The what?” Liam asks, but his focus is on Harry. A frown colors his face and he reaches to rest a hand on Harry’s back, his fingertips lightly grazing Harry’s. Harry immediately softens at the touch.

"All right, let's see which Harry we're dealing with today," Louis says as he steers Harry out of Liam’s grasp -- which Harry resents wholeheartedly -- and onto the couch and shoos Niall away to give him more room.

"What do you mean, _which Harry_?"

Louis purses his lips and nods knowingly. "Ah. Grumpy Harry. Noted."

"Fuck off,” Harry says with a scowl. If he’s grumpy, he’s got a reason to be.

"That's the hormones talking, love." Louis turns to Liam. “Has he been like this all day?”

“It’s been a very intense day,” Liam says, as an apology for Harry, which only serves to rial him up more. It’s been a very fucking intense day and nobody seems to _get it_.

Louis nudges Harry about until Harry’s lying on the couch the way Louis wants him to. There are throw pillows tucked strategically around his person, providing more support and comfort than Harry’s had all day. Then Louis sits on the edge of the couch, snatching up Harry’s feet to massage them methodically, carefully avoiding the pressure points like they got instructions to earlier.

Harry’s so relaxed he could melt, so he is naturally very suspicious. It’s unsettling how very competent Louis is.

“How the hell do you know to do all of this stuff?” Harry asks.

“I have six siblings,” Louis says, looking at Harry’s like he’s a complete idiot. He probably is. All the rest of them have older siblings, but Louis’ got years of family pregnancy experience.

Harry’s much more comfortable with Louis’ ministrations, but after that he just picks up conversation with Niall so Liam doesn’t have to, because Liam’s glued to his phone with a scowl of concentration on his face. They haven’t actually talked about telling anyone, so Harry can’t be sure who he’d be texting. It would exactly be like Liam to get on twitter at a time like this to go looking for reasons to keep feeling down, when he’s already convinced himself this whole thing is his fault.

It’s all so bloody awkward, he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. He just wants someone to hold him and tell him it’s going to be okay and he wants them to _mean it_ and he doesn’t just want it to be someone, he wants it to be Liam. He wants Liam to try.

Harry buries his face in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes so he doesn’t start crying at any given moment. They’re all going to tell him it’s his _hormones_ going out of whack, making him run hot and cold, but it’s more than that. He _hates_ being told that because it makes him sound like he’s being unreasonable. It’s like what what he’s feeling is ridiculous, not worth listening to. He shouldn’t have to justify why he feels the way he does.

He’s had the single most stressful day of his entire life -- which is admittedly a life full of quite a bit of stress already -- and he deserves to run hot and cold until he understands what’s happening to him.

He can’t get a finger on how he truly feels or, slightly worse, how Liam truly feels, and he just wishes he could skip forward to the part where they’re all okay with it. To the part where Liam’s okay with him. That’s what’s killing him the most, how much he’s thrown Liam off his game. His game specifically being Harry and taking care of him and looking at him and holding him and laughing with him and making fun of him. It’s like Liam’s been absent all day, even though he hasn’t much left Harry’s side.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Liam asks. Harry only notices then that they’ve all stopped talking some time ago, and when he moves his hands from his eyes, they’re all watching him.

"You’re looking at me like a fucking alien is going to burst forth from my chest. Niall won’t stop laughing nervously. Louis hasn't cracked a joke the entire time he's been here," Harry shouts, giving each of them a sharp look. "I'm stressed!"

There's silence. Niall’s eyes are wide and his face grows red and his fingers pull absently at the split at the knee of his jeans. And Liam’s got his eyes glued to Harry, looking like big round saucers of apology.

"I always secretly thought you'd be the first of us to get really fat," Louis says suddenly. "I'm just glad it wasn't me. I’ve also never felt so vindicated."

“I always thought it might be Niall,” Liam says thoughtfully. “ _When I’m fat and old_ and all. No offense.”

“That’s very true, Neil, that metabolism of yours is going to bite you in the arse one day.”

Niall just shrugs like it’s fair, but Harry sighs at them all. This makes Louis groan back at him and Liam look like he’s just put his foot in it.   

“I will literally pull me hair out a single strand at a time if you start lecturing me on sensitivity, Harry, I truly will,” Louis says. “They’ll say I shaved it for charity and I’ll look the hero, but we’ll all know the dark truth. Dark Harry lives and he strikes by smothering people with political correctness.”

Harry’s so exhausted he doesn’t even have a proper response, only a mildly hysterical sort of laughter. Harry laughs until he’s got a twinge in his back and his breath leaves him. Liam reaches for Harry.

“No. You did this to him,” Louis snaps at Liam, batting at his hand.

“I was there too,” Harry says in Liam’s defense.

“Only your sperm would be so earnest, Payno, that Harry wakes up nine months pregnant.”

"This morning he did actually accuse me of having alien sperm," Liam says. Harry hides his face in his hands.

Louis snaps his fingers and points at him. "An alien. I fucking knew it."

Harry laughs until he starts crying, his level of hysteria growing steadily because he doesn’t understand his life and he doesn’t know what to do or say or feel. Louis sends Harry for a nap, all three of them accompanying him to the bedroom to make sure he gets settled in okay. It seems like a bit much to be put down by three people, but Harry finds he’s enjoying the attention.

Harry awkwardly leans into the bed and settles on his back, allowing Liam to pull the duvet up over him.

“For fuck’s sake, Harry, not on your back,” Louis snaps.

“Louis, stop swearing,” Liam censures. “Babies can hear at, like, twenty weeks.”

Harry widens his eyes, startled at Liam dropping some baby facts out of nowhere, but then before he can do anything, Louis is pulling him onto his side so he strategically tuck pillows around him again until he feels better. When Harry looks back up, he sees Liam studying each of the pillows around him, like he’s trying to learn how to do it himself. Harry feels a rush of affection for him, reaches out his hand until Liam catches it.

The other lads shuffle away with Liam squats down to get to Harry’s eye level. He presses a quick kiss to Harry’s forehead and mumbles, “I love you,” before squeezing his hand and dropping it as Harry mumbles it back. “Call for me if you need anything?”

Harry wants to shout at him _you, I fucking need you_ , but he doesn’t. Half of him is wondering if he goes to sleep, will he wake up and everything will be back to normal? He’s not even sure if he wants that. He doesn’t know anything.

When Harry looks up to see that Liam’s gone, he’s surprised to see Niall lingering alone by the door.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I just,” Niall starts.

“Yeah, me neither,” Harry says. No one knows what to do.

“I mean, _shit_.” Niall looks a little disappointed in himself, and Harry doesn’t know how to make it okay for him. He shifts on his feet until he can’t seem to take it anymore. “Like. I’m here. You know that. Me and the lads.”

“Thanks, Nialler,” Harry says in a way that he hopes makes Niall feel like he’s released from having to say anything else.

Niall nods, gets the hint, and closes the door behind him, leaving Harry in darkness.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, gives napping his best go, but it’s all for nothing. She won’t let him sleep. The baby’s on the move, the doctor said, preparing for birth although Harry doesn’t even want to fucking picture what would happen if he went into labor. He might puke.

“Young lady, please, we need to sleep,” Harry begs, running his hand over his belly. Sometimes it hits him all over again that this is all part of him, like a sudden splash of water to the face. This is his skin and his dumb ruined tattoos at the top and bottom of his now non-existent abs. His trainer would probably lose his mind if he saw Harry now, their years of work down the drain due to pregnancy.

“This is fucking mental,” Harry mumbles to himself. “Sorry for swearing again, I’ll work on that, but honestly, I can’t make any promises.”

He tries to trick himself into sleeping to see if he can trick her into sleeping, but she’s too cunning for him. So he sits awake with his eyes closed and worries and worries and he doesn’t know why. He’s technically got everything he ever wanted. He literally just asked for it the night before. So is it the suddenness of it all?

No, it must be that Liam isn’t handling it. Liam’s his rock. He’s supposed to have Liam for support, so he feels off-kilter without it. Vulnerable.

The door cracks open, the light from the hallway blinding Harry just enough that he can’t see who it is until they’re nearly on top of him.

“Hey, babes,” Zayn says quietly, slipping into the bed next to him. Harry breaks.

“Zayn,” Harry chokes, scrambling awkwardly until at least some part of him is lying on top of him. He stops trying to fight the tears, he just lets Zayn’s trousers get soaked, but Zayn doesn’t seem to mind. “Zayn, Zayn, Zayn.”

“All right?” Zayn asks.

“No,” Harry hiccups and they both leave it until Harry calms down enough. Zayn doesn’t do much of anything, he never really used to, but the fact that he’s there, a solid presence that never expects anything of Harry, that means a lot.

“Changed my mind about the whole thing,” Harry mumbles eventually, “s’not a miracle. Everything hurts, like every inch of me, and I’ve gone for a wee, like, twelve times today. Men have no idea, Zayn. We don’t know anything.”

“Suppose we don’t,” Zayn answers, diplomatic as always. “The lads are arguing about what color to paint the nursery, like. Liam’s in favor of blue because he says it isn’t fair to stereotype based on gender.”

Harry smiles softly. That’s his idiot. “Can’t believe it’s real.”

“Mate, neither can I.”

“Liam’s bricking it, though, he’s not doing anything and it scares me.”

Zayn makes a sympathetic noise, but doesn’t attempt to explain anything. Harry wishes he had all the answers, that at least one of them is worth something.

“What do I do?”

“Fuck if I know,” Zayn admits. So. There goes that plan.

“Well, what good are you then,” Harry grumbles.

"Can't tell you what to do. S'not how it works."

“None of this is how it works,” Harry says. He’s a literal freak of nature at this point, like. _How it works_ was thrown out the window as soon as Harry woke up.

“But is this what you want?” Zayn asks.

Harry doesn’t know. It’s not something he thinks he can do on his own. “Want to talk to Liam,” he decides.

“Good,” Zayn says and makes to get up.

Harry grabs him tighter. “Christ, not now, we’re in the middle of a cuddle. Please show some respect, I’m very fragile.”

Zayn makes a little amused noise and lets Harry cuddle him for as long as he wants. Harry’s not entirely sure he’s ready for it when he shifts off of Zayn, but at some point he’s got to bite the bullet.

“Okay,” Harry says. “Would you mind sending him in?”

He finally lets Zayn out of the bed, hesitant to let him go now that he’s got him again. He needs him, like he needs Louis and Niall. But he needs Liam most of all. And thankfully he doesn’t have to wait long.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says as soon as he steps into the room.

“C’mere,” Harry says and reaches both hands out for him. Liam goes to him, striding across the room in a few long steps so he can crawl under the duvet with Harry on his own side of the bed. Harry flips around, messing up all of the strategic pillows even more than he did with Zayn, but he doesn’t care. Liam’s lying out there in front of him, not close enough for a cuddle, but he’s there.

He’s glad Liam left the door cracked so his face is lightly illuminated and Harry can see the lines of worry in his forehead that he wants to erase.

“I was just talking with the boys and I realize I haven’t really known what to do with myself today,” Liam says quickly, like all of this is pouring out of him whether he wants it to or not. “And not knowing what to do scared me. So then I didn’t do anything, just kind of sat around like a lump, didn’t I, which made things even worse, and I feel like a real tit, to be honest with you, Harry, I don’t exactly know how to apologize for that. It’s not very often I dunno what to do, but I can tell you it won’t happen again.”

“I’m so scared too,” Harry confesses, his voice barely making a noise.

“But I’ve been thinking a lot about it, actually, and I think we’ll be all right,” Liam answers, his voice thoughtful in an earnest way, in a way that makes Harry think he really means it instead of just handing out a useless platitude.

“Oh, we will?”

“Of course,” Liam says easily. “We can do anything, me and you.”

“So you want to do it?” Harry hates how the hope in his voice turns him up a few octaves, but at this point, he’s left shame at the door.

“I meant it when I said I wanted kids with you,” Liam answers, catching Harry’s eyes with the same determination he used yesterday, the one that lights a fire in Harry’s belly. “Granted I thought maybe we’d, like, adopt or something, but I suppose there’s nothing traditional about us lads.”

“Thank god,” Harry whispers and gives a chuckle that sounds more like himself than he has all day. “Me too. Our family.”

“Suppose you’ll have to make an honest man out of me, then. I’m telling you, my ring better not be cheap. I’m thinking at minimum six carats,” Liam says, a smile slowly creeping up his face and squinting his eyes.

“Oh yeah, of course, babe,” Harry drawls with a roll of his eyes.

“Mum’s gonna cry so much she’ll get dehydrated.”

“Oh fuck, we’ll have to tell our mums,” Harry moans, turning his face into the bed like if he doesn’t have to look at the world, then the rest of the world isn’t real. Liam’s right. Karen’s going to literally dehydrate. And there’s honestly no telling what his own mum is going to do.

“Haaaarry,” Liam says, poking lightly at Harry’s neck until Harry turns to him. He moves his hand to cup Harry’s jaw before reaching forward to kiss him lightly. Harry gives him a small smile and Liam swipes his thumb across Harry’s lips. “Ah, this smile belongs to me now.”

He shifts and pretends to tuck the smile into his back pocket and looks back at Harry with hopeful eyes. “May I have another?”

“Greedy,” Harry mumbles but gives him another anyway, because he can’t honestly deny him.

Harry’s halfway to being lulled asleep by the steady sounds of Liam breathing next to him and how softly he runs his fingers through Harry’s hair, but Harry realizes he has to tell him.

“Hey,” Harry says.

“Yeah?”

“We’re having a baby.” Just in case Liam’s forgotten.

“Do you know what? I think we _are_ having a baby,” Liam repeats, inching down the bed and finally resting his hands on either side of Harry’s stomach. It’s all Harry’s wanted all day. Liam puts his face right up around Harry’s belly button and whispers. “Hello, little one, please be good for your dad, okay?”

“I’m dad?” Harry asks.

Liam looks up at Harry like he’s concerned he’s offended him. “Oh. Did you want something else? Papa? We can google some alternatives.”

“I prefer Popsicle, if we’re going to get specific.”

“All right then,” Liam says, nodding seriously before he shifts back down to address their daughter. “Be very good to your Popsicle in there, just for another week, okay?”

“Only a week?” Harry lifts an eyebrow he knows Liam can’t see. He’d really rather she behave for a little longer than that.

“Well, if she’s anything like you, she’s going to be a right terror when she gets out.”

“If she’s anything like you, she’s going to be lovely.”

“Aw,” Liam pouts, his face falling. “You can say a nice thing after I’ve said a silly thing. That’s not fair.”

Harry snorts at him, but he won’t take it back. He flips back over onto his other side so he can tug Liam up against his back and curl his hand around his stomach. Liam goes easily, shifting into the place he belongs, and only then, for the first time all day, does Harry feel at peace.

“At some point we should probably tell some people in charge as well,” Harry mumbles.

“We’re going to cause an international scandal.”

“Well, it’s been a few weeks since we had one of those. I think it’s time.”

Liam chuckles and buries his face into Harry’s neck.

Against all odds, they’ve made it through the day. That’s what they’ll have to do, make it one day at a time, until they figure out what the hell they’re doing. They’ve got time. Right around a week, at the very least.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to judge me [here.](http://wickershire.tumblr.com/post/124887377148/one-week-and-a-promise-that-ill-never-tell)


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